The Thought Advancement
by April in Paris
Summary: Sheldon found himself thinking about it at odds times. He had never approved of unnecessary love scenes in movies, but now they relieved him. Because at least he knew exactly what the state of the relationship was. There was unacknowledged sexual tension in all his favorite things that he had never noticed before, and it was driving him crazy.


_**AN: This started as a thought exercise (in which Sheldon is right and Amy is wrong, not the way it usually happens), then it was something from Sheldon's point of view, and then it was about the week in Texas. So, it's a bit of a hodgepodge. But sometimes one's thoughts are, aren't they? Enjoy despite its faults! (Also, it is not necessary to have read **_**The Sunday ****Transcendence_ to understand this, but it provides some background, especially if you want to know what Amy is wrong about.)_**

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**The Thought Advancement**

On the very first day of his official coital research, Sheldon read a variety of statistics about how many times a day the average male thought about it. The estimates varied widely (388! What was happening at Ohio State?), but even the most prevalent belief of nineteen times was disturbing to him. He found this almost as disturbing to contemplate as the act itself. What if he lost his genius in some sort of pornographic brain rot?

At lunch in the cafeteria, while his friends were discussing the new _Star Wars_ movie, he could not help but wonder if they were thinking about it. Howard? Probably. Leonard? Maybe. Raj? He cannot begin to understand his mind when it comes to physical matters. Then he realized that by asking himself this question it was he, the great Sheldon Cooper, who was indeed thinking about it. He shook his head in disgust.

It occurred to him late that night, after Amy has fallen asleep, that he was already thinking about it more than he cared to and he hadn't even done it yet. What would happen then? Coitus was, he gathered, a self-propagating activity. How would he survive his planned two months of thorough research if there are times he could barely survive sleeping next to her?

He had not moved into Amy's bed for coitus. He had moved there because, now that she was constantly a presence in his apartment, if felt strange to not have her presence at night. He wanted to show her how much he loved her, how much he appreciated her support and understanding and patience. He moved in for comfort and warmth and to help him sleep. And most nights he did, in fact, sleep better. But some nights, like that night, it was not warmth and comfort that he found there; it was fire and temptation.

In the middle of the next Amorous Activities Night, the thought crossed his mind that maybe he should just start touching her . . . there. Then, maybe, instincts would take over and it would happen, almost by accident. Immediately, though, while the thought was still forming in his head, he filled with shame. It was the worst idea he had ever had. It was disrespectful to Amy even though he suspected she would allow it to happen. They would discuss this rationally, decide together, like the intelligent, superior beings they were.

He found himself thinking about it at odds times. Halfway through a comic book. During a rerun of _The X-Files_. He had never approved of unnecessary love scenes in movies, but now they relieved him. Because at least he knew exactly what the state of the relationship was. There was unacknowledged sexual tension in all his favorite things that he had never noticed before, and it was driving him crazy. Science fiction was a cesspool of innuendo.

Then, there was that night that he really, truly did accidentally touch her there. He fled to the shower immediately. He admitted it to himself that night. He was powerless to her, her . . . wiles! He was never going to hold out another six weeks, as he had planned. Nor did he want to.

Hell, he hadn't held out for seventy-two hours. He had made Amy promise that coitus wouldn't happen on Valentine's Day, because he hated the very idea of Valentine's Day. But then it had. Finally, blessedly, it had. When he thought back on it, he knew that while he was in the middle of it he wasn't thinking about it. He wasn't, of course, thinking about anything. He was just feeling the miraculous creature beneath him and around him, just feeling in every sense of the word.

Even the second time, the next morning, he didn't really think about it again. The second time was about loving. It was about how much he loved Amy, how much he loved her quiet and honorable lesson, how dignified she was when she helped him understand how she liked to be touched. It was about how much he loved watching her when he succeeded: the way her head titled back, her skin flushed, and there were three quick, rapid, strong inhalations in that ended in a brisk little high-pitched cry. Most of all he loved watching her eyes, the way her pupils dilated and the way she looked at him when she climaxed, not blinking, seeing straight through him. He realized it was not coitus, it was making love. It would take him four months say those words aloud, but that's when it happened.

Then, for the next two weeks, he worried that he really did think about it 388 times a day. What was happening to him? The night of their marriage they were supposed to use the die, it was his wager with Amy. But after the seventh role (ankles? really?), he threw it over his shoulder and just started saying the numbers he wanted. Amy laughed and he laughed, and it was strange to be laughing during something so serious. Yet it was glorious, somehow, too. Afterwards, holding her, he thought maybe there was not a die in the world with enough numbers.

Gradually, after those first two crazy weeks, the thoughts settled. Oh, he still had them, but his brain seemed to be mostly functioning at capacity. Marriage brought other distractions, and he had found a way to deal with most of them.

One evening, five weeks in, he was reading a Captain America comic while Amy sat next to him, turning the glossy pages of one of Penny's bridal magazines, when a thought did come to him. The Captain America movie was the most confusing to him. Did he and Peggy ever make love? It was a different era. Captain America was the greatest gentleman. And, no matter how much Amy obviously enjoyed it, when Sheldon thought of the pure mechanics of it, it didn't seem very gentlemanly.

"Amy, when I asked to move into your bedroom, did you know we would be having coitus so soon?" He could not yet bring himself to tell Amy it is making love; what if she thought he sounded like a hippy?

"I estimated four weeks maximum," she didn't even look up from her page.

Sheldon's eyebrows shot up. Did she think he had no self-control? "Four weeks?"

Then she looked up and smiled at him, her little flirtatious smile. "Was I wrong?"

Sheldon opened his mouth and then shut it again. No, she was not. As a matter of fact, it had only been three. He turned back to his comic, ignoring Amy's little chuckle next to him. Captain American and Peggy? Most definitely.

That night, for the first time, Amy was on top. And she was no longer his gentle, dignified wife. He thought she was a beast. He thought she had finally earned her vixenhood. This is the thought he thought of for the next several days.

Around the same time, he thought he discovered the secret. The secret was how many inhalations Amy drew in before crying out. Three? Good. Five? Better. Seven? He was on to something. He had also discovered that this, her pleasure, was just as enjoyable to him as his own. He decided that he would always do this first. Because, even though he was able to use his hand to do it sometimes during, it was always awkward. It was a three at best.

But then something strange happened. Amy awoke him in the middle of the night, her hand already deep inside his pajama bottoms. His REM cycle disturbed, his mind foggy, his body crying out, he simply met her where she wanted; he didn't even try to bring her to climax. He fell back to sleep almost immediately. The next morning, he was mortified. He wondered if he should apologize, but he wasn't even sure Amy remembered it. She said nothing, there was no acknowledgement in any way, not even the coy morning wink she had started giving him over breakfast when they made love the night before. He thought about it at least nineteen times that day.

The afternoon Amy introduced him to the quickie, he thought he failed. There was no cry, and he wasn't sure if there was really a breath before it. It was because he could not see her eyes. It was all too fast; one minute her mouth was over his and the next her forehead was on his chin and then it was over. He preferred to be able to see her eyes.

She reassured him, but then she casually mentioned oral stimulation. _Oh boy_, it was bound to come up some time. She tried to feign disinterest, but he knew better. He thought he would only disappoint her again.

He thought about it every day for the next two weeks. No, never. Yes, maybe. No, never. He thought he would try it, just once, for Amy. But when? It was the shower that gave him the strength. Clean, spotless, pristine Amy. That's when he would do it. For the first time, she yelled his name. And he never thought she looked so beautiful as she did that morning.

Sheldon knew some people thought he was naïve. Maybe about some things, but not about the facts of life. Certainly not now. He knew that once he orally pleasured Amy, she would want to do the same to him. He also knew that, according to some men, that was the sexual equivalent of The Holy Grail. He thought about how much pleasure he had brought her, and he thought he would die with anticipation in the moments between when she asked if she could try and the second her lips settled around him.

But then he thought he was broken, he thought he wasn't a real man. Because, even though Amy performed admirably (he thought, he had no frame of reference) and the goal was obviously met, he . . . well, he didn't really like it. It didn't feel like making love. There was a such a mess to clean up and the cleaning killed the mood and he was too empty to try to make love to her, anyway. They cuddled in silence. He thought he was a horrible husband, he should thank her and tell her he loved her, so she wouldn't think the worst, but he didn't.

A few weeks after that, they left for Texas. It pleased Sheldon, other than in the minutes he was actually doing it, he didn't think about making love with Amy at inopportune times anymore . Mostly because all he could think about was dread. He dreaded this trip to Texas. First of all, he hated parties and his mother knew that. Second, the whole family was coming to meet Amy. He knew she was perfect; what if no one else saw that?

In Texas, there would be no making love. It was a ground rule they both agreed was self-evident. Besides, his stomach was in knots. So he was surprised he thought about it three times that week.

The first was near the end of the party. It had been tolerable. Amy had stood next to him the entire time, holding his hand. He was normally opposed to such public displays of affection, but this time he welcomed her strength. As his brother was getting ready to leave, he lunged toward Sheldon in a style Sheldon knew too well. His scalp ached just thinking about the noogie he was about to receive. Suddenly, at the last second, Amy was between them, and George stumbled backwards. George shook it off and left then, without saying good-bye. Sheldon turned to Amy in amazement, and she just shrugged. He really, really wanted to do any damn pleasurable thing she wanted.

He missed what was said just before the second time. There was another gathering, a "just the family" dinner according to his mother, and they were sitting around the table after the meal. He had heard George antagonizing Amy, and he was just about to get up from the table to take her away, when his nephew toddled up and planted two jam covered palms on Sheldon's pants. "Missy, control your offspring! He has ruined by pants!"

Before Missy could answer there was a flurry of movement from Amy and little crack and a deep scream and blood was pouring out of George's nose. Normally, the very sight of blood made Sheldon lose consciousness, but the pride in his chest somehow kept this from happening. Never has a deeper silence fell over a room. _Oh, no._

Just as quick as Amy had been four days before, Sheldon was up, grabbing her around the shoulders, and leading her upstairs. He was really, truly terrified. He locked the bedroom door behind them.

Amy collapsed in his arms. "Sheldon, I'm so sorry. I didn't-"

"Shhhhhhh," he whispered into her hair. He wanted to tell her about this perverse sense of pride he was experiencing, but then Amy started crying.

He led her to the bed and held her while she cried. He wanted to know the whole story, of course, but she was in no condition to tell it. He wanted to comfort her with words and actions, but she was in no condition to accept it. Also, he kept one ear on the door, listening to the ruckus that had broken out downstairs. As the minutes ticked by, one by one, he heard car doors slamming and the house emptying.

At last, Amy's cries quieted, and, as the house was empty, he really thought about comforting her that way. Then he realized that Amy had fallen asleep. He undressed her the best he could, and then he lay next to her, not sleeping until long after he had heard his mother come home and pause outside their door before going to her own room.

The third time was the next morning. It was the first time that week that his mother had rapped on the door and told them to wake up and come down to breakfast. _Oh, dear._ They exchanged resigned looks.

"It's probably best to get it over with," Sheldon said. Amy nodded. Quickly dressing, they went downstairs.

Sheldon was surprised there were chocolate chip pancakes and bacon already on the table.

"Well, what are you just standing there for? Sit down," Mary said.

They sat, and Sheldon picked up his fork. About to take a bite, Mary interrupted him. "Shelly, you know we say grace."

Mary started to pray, and, although he and Amy were both being respectfully silent, Sheldon wasn't really listening. Until: "And, Dear Lord, be with my son George, Jr. as he heals from his broken nose. Thank you, Dear Lord, for my daughter-in-law Amy and her mean right hook for teaching him the lesson of humility. Finally, Dear Lord, be with my son Sheldon so that he never does anything to deserve the wrath of Amy, although, being a special man, he probably will. Amen."

Amy's face, across the table as Mary prayed, was priceless as different emotions passed over it. Fear, horror, and finally amusement. Sheldon looked at her sparkling eyes and practically yelled Amen. Because, even though he was fairly certain he didn't believe in God, he was certain thinking of doing naughty things to your wife during prayer was a sin.

By the time they had finally arrived home, later than planned because of the delay, Sheldon was taut with tension. He hated flying, he hated airports, he hated flight delays. He needed relief.

"Do you want some tea, Sheldon?" Amy walked toward the kitchen.

"No. thank you. I want . . ." And he was across the apartment, pushing her against the island, finding her mouth, her tongue, finding his hand in her hair, finding his other hand over her breast. He broke away to catch a breath. " . . . you."

He bent further down, to bring his mouth to her neck.

"Mmm, Dr. Cooper, shall we . . ."

He didn't answer. Instead he reached down even further, to try to pull her skirt up, gratified it was too hot for tights, pushing her harder against the island.

"Sheldon, seriously, this isn't comfortable. You're too tall. This is hurting my back."

He kissed her passionately again. Drat, she was right. He moved to her earlobe, "Then, Dr. Fowler, get up on the island."

"What? Are you serious?"

He broke away again, attempting to lift her up himself. Together, using the stool for a step, they somehow got Amy up on the island in just under two seconds. Oh, this wouldn't work either; now she was too tall. But Amy seemed to enjoy the swap in heights, and she reached for his face, kissing him from above. Intensely kissing him.

Okay, he would do what he could. He reached under her skirt again, finding her panties, briefly startled but then pleased to discover they were wet. How had he never done this before? She was always nude by the time he got there. His thoughts were starting to fragment, but he thought he wanted to try this.

He started to caress her through the thin fabric. She moaned into his mouth and spread her legs wider. She liked it. It took longer than normal, he started sucking on her earlobe to send her over the edge, but it worked. He pulled his head back just in time to look into her eyes. Three quick inhalations, the little cry.

_That, Dr. Fowler, is for the amused look on your face at breakfast._

She rested her head on his shoulder. "The bedroom?"

"Yes."

He didn't even take off his clothes, he just helped her with hers. He only kicked his shoes off before collapsing over her, burying his face in chest, teasing her breasts with his lips and tongue.

Reaching down again, he taunted her at first, gently running just his fingertips over her folds until she bucked for him. It was only then that he applied himself to the task at hand. For some reason, he didn't know why, he decided to push harder this time.

"Is this okay?" he whispered into her neck.

"Yes, yes, yes," she replied.

It wasn't how Amy had shown him to do it, but he decided to try it anyway. No circular movements, just his index finger, rocking back and forth over her sensitive knot, harder and faster. He thrilled to see she was very clearing enjoying it. Just when he thought he had pushed too hard, Amy said, "Don't stop."

And then she broke open for him, and he found himself counting as he watched her, as had become his habit. Nine inhalations, and then a longer cry.

_That, Dr. Fowler, is for defending me._

He curled up next to her, kissing her shoulder. Amy ran her fingers through his hair. "Dr. Cooper, you're on fire tonight."

"I am, aren't I?" he kissed her shoulder again. "Are you too tired? For?"

"Never."

There was a thought that had been in his mind lately. He finally found the courage to ask. "Would you mind, uh, turning over?"

"On my hands and knees?" Amy looked alarmed.

"Um, actually, no. Uh, I'm not ready for that. Your stomach."

"Okay." She rolled over for him, resting her head on its side.

He brushed her hair away and ran his palm down her back. Then he ran it down her posterior. He really, really loved that part of her. He really loved every part of her. He quickly removed his clothes, wondering why he had left them on, keeping his eyes on the beautiful display before him.

Once he was naked, he reached down again, just to get his bearings. He thought about pleasuring her one more time, but he knew he couldn't wait much longer. Starting at her tailbone, he traced up her spine with his tongue. Amy shivered.

"You'll tell me if this hurts? Or if you just don't like it?" he whispered into her ear. She nodded against the sheets.

He guided himself into her, gasping as he always did. Oh, this was different. It felt tighter at this angle. He paused for her to adjust and buried his face between her shoulder blades. After a moment, he started gently thrusting. He stretched his arms out over Amy's, weaving his fingers with hers from above. He left his head where it was, alternately kissing her back and listening to her gradually increasing breathing.

"Okay?" he asked after a few minutes.

"Yes," she moaned back.

He couldn't find the purchase he wanted like this, he needed something else. Not letting go of her fingers, he pulled her arms in close so he can use them for leverage. The relief of being able to speed up was overwhelming. Amy had managed to adjust something in her pelvis and the angle changed slightly again. Something about that has the power to turn him on even more, which he didn't think was possible, and he almost slammed into her.

It was the new angle that did it. Suddenly Amy was moaning deeply. "Just like that," she commanded.

Sheldon knew he was not going to argue with an order liked that. Just a few more thrusts like that and it happened. It surprised him. She stiffened beneath him and around him, her head came up slightly, and the tight gasps started.

_Yes, I am on fire!_ He wanted to hold on a little longer for Amy, but it was really too much. He let himself go, too, and his own yelp came at the same time she said his name.

Dear Lord! He fell down completely on to her, having lost the strength to keep from crushing her.

_That, Dr. Fowler, is for how perfect you are. _

As he lay panting, listening to her own pants, he could not decide what he really thought about that. They both enjoyed it, that was clear. But there was something missing to him. He wasn't sure what it was.

"Sheldon, it's hard to breathe."

"Oh." He scrambled out of and off of her. He rolled over on his back, and she put her head on his chest. His mind was still ambivalent. "Amy?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you want to do it that way all the time now?"

"No." She lifted her head up a little to look at him. "Why?"

"I didn't know if it was better for you. It, um, looked that way."

She smiled and put her head back down. "As long as you're there, I like it any way."

Sheldon's heart swelled. Did she mean it? "No, I meant . . . you had a very large orgasm, right?"

"I've had them before."

"Amy." He did want to be frustrated with her, not then, not about this. Was she going to make him say it?

"You mean from penetration alone?"

There! She had finally been the one to say it. "Yes."

"Still no."

It occurred to Sheldon that she seemed ambivalent, also. Perhaps she could explain it to him. Amy was good at explaining things. "Was it too rough?"

"No. But I wouldn't want it that way all the time. I like it when you're gentle."

So that wasn't it. "Is gentle your favorite?"

"I like very gentle, too. But it's not my favorite."

"What is your favorite?"

She raised her head to look at him. "When I can look in your eyes." Then she put her head back down.

_Yes, that was it. Exactly it_. "Me too." He paused. Maybe he had got it wrong. "So you don't want to do it that way again? Because you can't see me?"

"I didn't say that. We can do it again. Sometimes. If I can see your eyes every time, I won't learn to miss them. I'll just take them for granted."

His immediate thought was that was just the type of excessively sentimental poppycock Amy loves to say. He second thought was that she was right. "Acceptable on occasion?"

"Affirmative."

He smiled. He reached over for the blankets, pulling them over both of them.

He thought they should shower, before they slept in the airplane filth. He thought they should unpack. He thought they should pick up their scattered clothes. But his last thought before falling asleep is that tomorrow morning, he was going to make love to his wife very, very gently. Looking into her eyes the entire time.


End file.
